Current weather

Christmas hard on mothers who are imprisoned

Posted: Sunday, December 25, 2005

HAWKINSVILLE - Christmas arrived early for Chartisia Jackson, but it lasted only a few hours.

Her two young sons, 8-year-old Darion and 7-year-old Jeremy, were allowed inside the austere walls and razor-topped fences of Pulaski State Prison to exchange kisses, tears and laughter with their mother under the constant watch of guards and cameras.

Children filing through metal detectors for the holiday visits can bring no gifts, just a clear plastic bag with change for the hot fries and microwavable chicken wings from the vending machines.

"This is all I need," says the 26-year-old Jackson, who went to prison for armed robbery five years ago. "I just need to be able to touch them and smell them and play. I don't need any gifts."

Jackson's children, along with those of four fellow inmates, arrived the weekend before Christmas on a bus provided by the Atlanta nonprofit group Aid to Children of Imprisoned Mothers. For the prison's 1,060 women inmates, behind bars for crimes ranging from check fraud to murder, it was the closest they could get to a Christmas with their families.

Sandra Barnhill, who founded the group in 1987, estimates there are 8,000 children of Georgia's 3,395 female inmates. Most belong to single mothers. Many, like Jackson's, are left in the custody of their maternal grandmothers.

"The holidays are always more special, more poignant, because the tradition is that's the time for families to get together," Barnhill says. "It doesn't matter about the circumstances. That's their mother."

According to Bureau of Justice Statistics, there are more than 104,000 women in federal and state prisons. Roughly two-thirds of them have children under 18.

For mothers serving hard time, the holidays tend to be the hardest times of all.

"Not being able to exchange gifts, not being able to see them open their gifts, that's real hard," says 40-year-old Bridgette Penn, who has been in prison for shoplifting since 2000. "I do a lot of crying on Christmas and holidays."

Penn's 13-year-old daughter, Simone, sits sobbing with her head on her mother's shoulder. Dejuan, Penn's 12-year-old son, is more upbeat.

Dejuan keeps a calendar on his bedroom wall in Atlanta, marking an "X" through each day his mother has been incarcerated. Though she'll be in prison for Christmas, she's supposed to be released next month.

"When you get out, it'll be 60 (months)," Dejuan tells his mother. Asked why he started a calendar, he shrugs. "I just wanted to see how many days it was going to take for my momma to come home."

Jackson, who hasn't been home in Atlanta with her children since they were toddlers, was puzzled when son Jeremy told her about the presents he's already opened - a Power Ranger and a Ninja Turtle.

"Do you know what he's talking about?" Jackson asks her mother.

Prison visits reach their peak during the Christmas season, says Tom Chapman, Pulaski's warden. However, most families come to see inmates on Christmas Eve or earlier, choosing to stay home Christmas Day.

"The female inmates care about their kids," said Chapman, a 22-year veteran of Georgia's prison system. "It's very good for the inmates. It gives them some kind of hope that people on the outside care about them."

Chapman says the prison tries to add a few touches of Christmas cheer to its lockstep routine. Inmates can receive limited gifts through the mail, mostly staples such as soap, shampoo and underwear. Prison cooks serve turkey, dressing and pumpkin pie for Christmas dinner.

Punter, 27, misses her mother's home-cooked dressing and macaroni and cheese. Most of all, she misses her 8-year-old son, Demainje. This will be their second Christmas apart.

Last year, a DeKalb County judge sentenced Punter to five years in prison for child depravation after her husband, Shaun Stewart, murdered her younger son, 2-year-old Kyshawn Punter, in August 2003. Punter was an Army private stationed at Fort Jackson, S.C., when Stewart killed her son.

After losing Kyshawn, Punter tries to stay close with Demainje, who lives with Punter's mother in Stone Mountain. They joke and laugh during his visit, arm-wrestling on the small table.

"I let you win," Punter says after her arm is pinned.

"You're trying to make me lose," Demainje retorts, giggling.

He teases his mother about her tweezed eyebrows and the pink bow in her hair that clashes with her beige prison uniform.

Demainje rattles off his Christmas list - a Gameboy, some toy cars and clothes. He says he picked out a watch to send his mom.